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perpetuelledaydreaming · 25 days ago

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Mamma mia | chapter six

listen to: Cinnamon Girl - Lana del Rey | Look at us now - Daisy Jones & The Six (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

Your eyes flutter open to find the purple tile of the bathroom being washed in sunlight, washing your legs, too, reflecting it directly into your eyes. You frown slightly before closing your eyes again. The sun is not pouring through the window yet, not wholly, and yet you feel everything is too warm, too hot. You squirm desperately again, searching for relief. It is only as you take in the sounds outside, waves crashing melodically against the sand, birds chirping, that you take in the soft snoring.

Opening your eyes wide, you let them fall to your legs. It is then that you see his long legs spilling from the bathtub. With a gasp, you stand up from Bradley's Bradshaw's chest; turning around, you watch him sleeping. Shirt gone, he is standing in his boxers, deep in his sleep. You had lost consciousness in the Hard Deck; you're still determining how you ended up here. Not quite sure how you ended up slotted between his thighs, laying on his chest, his arm seemingly wrapping around your middle. Checking your body, you realize you're now in his Hawaiian shirt but still with your bikini on, yet he is a furnace.

He barely stirs as you move his arms and do your best to get out of the shower. It is only until you stand up that a piercing pain goes through your head.

"Fuck," you whisper to yourself.

You shouldn't have drunk that much, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Tan skin, along with some red spots, especially on your shoulders, although you should've known better. You stare at yourself, curlier hair than the night before, red cheeks from the heat of him, deep into thoughts as you gaze at the man in your bathtub, sleeping soundly. He's golden, caramel in his eyes and curls, and his tan skin.

Your stomach is all in knots as you watch him. You pray you haven't slept with him as you watch his jeans on the floor. You don't want to forget your first time. And then you frown; he wouldn't have taken you to bed; he knew how drunk you were; you were still wearing your bikini, and yet. Fear floods your body as you think about it; anger fogs your senses.

It is almost involuntarily how you stomp through the bathroom, reach the tap, and suddenly turn the water on. Bradley's a deep sleeper, you realize. It takes him a second, a frown with his eyes still closed, to feel the ice water hitting his stomach. And then he screams as he stands up from the shower.

"What the actual fuck?" Rooster groans as he launches himself out of the tub, droplets of water glistening on his golden skin, looking away from you. Drenching his boxers, leaving little to the imagination.

"Did we have sex?" you demand as you stare at his baffled features. It annoys you even further, as your eyes involuntarily go down to his boxers. "I was completely black out!" you yell, swatting your hand against his bicep.

"We didn't- What, what are you talking about!?" Bradley's voice rumbles, breathing deeply as he tries not to shiver from the water. It felt like needles in his skin, but he still turned to you.

Lifting his gaze from his wet body to find you there. Brows pinched together, lips twisted in a certain way, glaring beautiful eyes. He'd forgotten for a second how lovely you were in the haze of the feeling of ice on his skin, but then, there you are. And he recalls how warm you were yesterday, your smile, your skin against his.

And then, you keep screaming.

"I woke up, and you're naked!"

It takes him a few seconds until what you're implying dawns on him.

"You told me to take my pants off!" he answers as he now glares at you, too, scowling.

Your eyes widen at his words. There's no way you could've asked him; you'd passed out. You should've been in your bed, not naked with someone in the bathroom. A smile tugs on Bradley's lips as he watches your eyes widen. Indeed, not the confident girl at the bar he'd been chasing all night is now taking it back, completely unaware of her actions.

"Why would I do that!?" you shake your head, shoving at his shoulders, but then his hands curl on your hips, guiding you closer to him. You can smell him, the beer, and the cinnamon as your cheeks burn up.

"You said you wanted a shower because you'd puked," he answers with a quick smile as he examines your features, avoiding his gaze. "I agreed, but you told me that I had to take my pants off if I wanted to get you in the shower,"

"Oh, and you listened to me? Such a gentleman," you answer sarcastically.

Bradley rolls his eyes playfully and continues. "I helped you wash, respectfully; when you got cold, I gave you my shirt because I couldn't find a towel, and then you pushed me in the bathtub, kissed me, and told me that you were too sleepy," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. You swallow hard as he takes your chin between his thumb and index fingers, lifting your gaze towards him. "I was drunk too, so I agreed, we just fell asleep,"

You remember how handsome he is, with his golden halo surrounding him. He is also sweet, so sweet that you feel your heartbeat picking up.

"If you don't believe me, ask your friends. They were watching the whole thing," he says softer.

Your eyes widen even more; quickly, you turn away and run towards the spiral staircase, looking for the ones who should've been taking care of you. And not him, not the handsome pilot with barely any clothes on.

"August! James!" you scream as you run down the staircase. You hiss slightly at the light and loudness of your own voice, your headache screaming at you.

Over there, on the kitchen table, you take in the scene. Still, in yesterday's bikinis with blankets and a men's t-shirt over their bodies, they scowl as you walk towards them. You don't mind the other pilot in the kitchen cooking breakfast for the two of them. You simply sit down loudly on your new spot at the table.

"What the hell?" you demand.

"Ugh, Honey, lower," James groans as she closes her eyes, fingers lightly massaging her temples. August drinks the green juice before her; she barely gets it down before gagging.

"Did I have sex with him?" you ask as you watch Rooster walking down the stairs, buttoning his jeans up and staring at you with a hint of mischief.

"You were too drunk to stand up, even less to ride someone," James groans.

Your cheeks turn red as you hear Bradley snickering to himself as he sits next to you, almost too calm, too relaxed, waiting for his breakfast. He has a large smile on his lips as he gazes at you. He checks you out, unashamed of whatever you've been thinking. Your heartbeat picks up as you watch that smile.

"We were too. That's why we only watched," August finally says as she gasps happily when her pilot places a plate of eggs in front of her.

"Yeah, I watched too," the other pilot says.

You frown at him.

"Mickey, don't," August whispers to him.

"See?" Bradley says as he gets closer to you, his eyes shining, and you can't help it. The corner of your lips tugs slightly.

"We tried to force you to your bed, but you told us he was too comfortable," James continues to explain as she lets out a satisfied whimper and takes a bite of the eggs the other pilot serves.

"Just have breakfast," August continues as the pilot, Mickey, finishes serving the rest of you and sits with Augustine, kissing her forehead and eating.

Turning, you see him. Caramel eyes are still glued to your face, a playful smirk still adorns his face, and those tan arms are big and robust as he leans into you. You press your thighs together as you think of him caring for you. Your mind wanders to the freckles under his eyes, the glow of the remaining droplets of water in his skin, and the scar on his cheek. You bite your inner cheek.

"Can I have my t-shirt?" he whispers to you playfully. Your eyes widen, and you quickly take the shirt off, wanting to wipe away that shit-eating grin on his face, leaving you barely naked with that skimpy bikini. He chuckles as you throw his shirt at him while his eyes wander your body. "You're a strange girl, Honey,"

"Shut up,"

It is almost lunch by the time Bradley Bradshaw decides to return to base. Until now, in those hours, taking breakfast before settling the discussion, who would listen to a drunk girl unconscious for thirty minutes before asking them to get naked. After that, you got to know him better. He was into baseball when he was young; he always knew he wanted to be a pilot. He'd lived in San Diego when he was younger, just for a little while. He only talked about his mother, and there was no mention of his father. You wondered if he had left them, as you heard a story about his mother and him in the supermarket when they moved to Virginia.

The story had you at seams, Augustine and James too. You were in tears as you'd spent most of the morning talking. And yet, between laughter, you could see him, truly see him. He seemed almost too friendly and happy to be a kid without a present father. Still, there was a sense of nostalgia in him; something was missing. You were thinking about it as he leaned against your door's frame.

"You know, I think you and your friends make a nice family," Bradley says. He holds upwards to your door's frame, clinging onto this, lingering for you. He doesn't want to leave.

It's a strange comment; your chin wobbles slightly as you take it in. You'd never thought of this being your family per se. James and August are family, but it seemed strange. You thought you'd have a family only until you got married. You didn't even know if you wanted children. But now you bought a house with friends, take care of each other, and always be there for them. They are your family.

"Thank you,"

A beat of silence lingers as you watch him. You don't want him to leave either, not when he had you laughing so hard that your whole body was aching, not when he was so warm that you could feel his heat even feet away from you.

"So, are you playing another day at the Hard Deck?"

His face lights up. He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. Your heart was melting at how you looked at him through your lashes, softly and meekly, even hours before you were about to kick him out of the house. He does his best to clear his throat to not seem so excited.

He fails. It only makes your chest wound tight with excitement.

"I'll play whenever you want, any song, wherever you want," he says.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he looks downwards, reaching tentatively at your naked hip. He breathes deeply, glancing up at your face, as he curls his fingers and guides you towards him. Your eyes are on his face, body compliant as you fall against his chest but quickly climb on your tiptoes to kiss him.

Closing your eyes in anticipation, he exhales softly before leaning down and kissing you softly. It is not like the day before. There is not the same sense of urgency—well, there is—but now it is more tender, as if he is afraid he could break you.

You don't mind it yet; you could, but you don't now. You want this, for now, tender and soft.

"Come here next Sunday," you whisper, pulling away. "You'll prepare breakfast this time,"

Bradley's smile widens. "Done deal," he says as he taps your hip softly. "See you next Sunday, Honey," he says, leaning down again and pressing his lips against you.

"Honey, there's someone on the phone for you," James says just as Bradley pulls away and walks away from the Porsche. You linger for a moment, watching him get in his bronco. "Honey," James calls once more.

You ran quickly to the sunroom, and James held your newly charged phone in her hand. Swiftly, you took it from her hands and whined slightly at the cast on your other hand. It had been through hell in the past few days.

"Hello?"

"Honey?" your eyes widen as you hear the way-too-young-looking pilot with brownish golden locks and lashes so long that they touch his gold-framed glasses on the other side saying.

"Bob, hi," you whisper, as if not to alert James or Augustine. Quickly, you walk away from the sunroom into the living room. "I never thought I'd hear from you again,"

"I'm sorry. I tried your cellphone all weekend, and it didn't," he says in a drawl. You remember he was from the South but then moved to California. It makes your stomach twist to think that he'd been calling you while you were kissing two other men.

"No, I'm sorry," you answer. "I was careless,"

"Thank you," he answers honestly, as if he is surprised that you admit it. You smile to yourself. "I wanted to, uhm," he stumbles over his words as you bite your cheek, waiting patiently for the boy who tasted like peaches and smelled like apricot to say that he wanted to see you. "Ask you if you remember that date we talked about?"

"Yes,"

"Oh," he states. "I was wondering how about Saturday?"

"June 14th?"

"Yeah,"

You gaze at the ocean through the kitchen windows. You're last summer, and you want to be careful not to hurt anyone, but dates can't hurt. It's something for the summer, nothing permanent, you tell yourself.

"It's a date,"

SEVEN YEARS LATER

"Mommy, can we go to the water?"

Rising your eyes from your book, you gaze at your daughter. In her little pink swimsuit, her pink plush lips with a broad smile, her button nose, her caramel-greenish eyes, her brownish-golden in disarray with sand on it. You could never be tired of watching her smile.

Quickly, with the permanent smile on your face since the day she was born, you pull her into your thighs, pecking her neck and cheeks as she shrieks excitedly. Squirming under your hands, her laughter rumbles through your spot on the beach. Augustine and James smile at the scene as Augustine leaves Inés' toys that they were playing with in the sand, and James leaves her book down.

"Mom!" your child chips as her giggles continue. "Please, I want to show everyone how good we swim together; there's a competition!" she says as she points at the beach.

Gazing at the coastline, you see the other children's mothers at the Summer Camp. Dread creeps into your body as you see some glaring back at you. A constant in any school or summer camp function you'd realize. You can't help but notice it, really, the occasional glances from the other mothers, their eyes conveying unspoken criticism or curiosity as they see your family.

Three women in their late 20's or early 30's -they never can tell- raising a six-year-old. No father in sight. You feel the weight of their expectations, of the backstories they invented for you. An invisible burden you've carried since the moment you became a mom.

"Your auntie James is so much better at swimming than me, my love," you say, trying to dissuade her from the flock of mothers.

"That's true, baby," James agrees as she pinches Inés' chubby cheek; she giggles in return.

"How about a stroll? And some ice cream?" You say, lowering your voice as you whisper into your child's ear. Inés' eyes light up with joy as she nods impatiently.

As you stroll along the sun-kissed beach with your daughter, the golden sands stretch out before you, warmed by the gentle caress of the afternoon sun. You watch her walking a few steps from you, heart swelling as you see the little prints of her feet on the sand, playing in the glistening shoreline.

Mine. You remember that's what you first thought when you saw her. All mine. You repeat in your head as her button nose crinkles, and she giggles while her caramel eyes with flecks of green eyes reflect the vibrant sea. You'd imagined her when you were pregnant. You'd imagined her for so long; you'd imagine her over a thousand times since the summer ended when you were left heartbroken and alone. Nine months that seemed to stretch out forever. Nine months where you thought that she might give you clues about who her father was.

The most beautiful creature in the world. You realized that she had a bit of each of them as she was placed into your arms. Now, six years later, it only scares you more as she leans down, picking shells every few steps, that you might lose her.

"Mommy, look!"

Her pink plush lips form a wide, infectious smile that could light up the entire coastline. The innocence in her laughter and the way her button nose crinkles when she giggles warm your heart. Her caramel eyes with greenish flecks, reflecting the vibrant sea, are a constant source of wonder for you, a testament to summer.

It is a testament to your broken heart, too.

That's what you thought, as you recall when Jake kissed you last Thursday.

You were surprised at first, blinking as you watched his face. His eyes shut so hard that you were sure white spots clouded his vision. He held your cheek with the tenderness that he had you with that first night you spent together. Someone who was truly in love. A part of you wants to pull away, but then he moves his lips further, and you feel your chest is about to explode. You want to comply with vigor and stay beneath his lips until you forgive him for everything.

Chapters One and Two of your relationship prevent you.

Instead, you push against his chest. Glaring at him, you barely give him time to react. The moment your palm makes contact with his cheek, your lip quivers. It takes you back. The mark he left on your collarbone. The tingle in your hard. Your throat is raw from crying and screaming. His tears. His cheek was crimson from how hard you'd hit him. It isn't as hard now, but it is still enough to make time.

Jake doesn't move. You stay still, as if you are invisible if you don't move. When he finally turns, his cheek is still hot from the contact between your and his skin. You can see her in his eyes, a fraction of him, his face layered with the faces of Bob and Bradley. All of them, painted in her smile.

"Don't ever do that, I mean it, Jake."

"Mommy, Matilda is there!" Inés gasps with excitement as she catches a glimpse of one of her friends.

Almost involuntarily, a happy sequel escapes her lips as she waves at her small friend from afar. The permanent smile on your face when you are with her only expands as you watch her more petite friend perform the same ritual as she pulls at her mother's dress and points at you.

"You want to go and play with her, my love?" you ask softly, kissing her cheek.

"Yes!" she squeals one more, her legs already moving in the air in the direction she needed to go.

Admiring the tousled, brownish-golden strands of hair that dance in the salty breeze, you let her down. A sprinkle of sand adds to the disarray as she runs towards her friend. For a second, you can savor the moment and taste it. The sun setting down, the butterscotch light turning fire, the salty air in your tongue and skin, your heart full as you watch that little creature, your happiness, your everything in the warm sand.

It is strange. How someone so novel, fresh, and unfamiliar with pain that brought you so much love could remind you of so much pain. Ghosts layer within her face, features, bearings, and speech. You can see all of them. The permanent golden halo Bradley carries, she does. She drips the kindness and tenderness that Bob had shown you and helps you with. Her attitude, her confidence, fearless nature. It has Jake all over it.

And just like that, as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky, casting a warm, honey-golden cue in the sky, they appear as apparitions from your past. You don't see them at first, too enthralled with your child to even realize that you caught their eyes. Bob was the one who saw you first; Bradley just followed his line of vision to find you there, arms crossed, one-piece pink swimsuit wrapping your body carefully, an almost transparent fabric covering your lower half. Jake half-hoped that it wasn't you once Bradley called him, not after Thursday.

You're too busy gazing at Inés, wrapped in a hazy, nostalgic light, that you don't see them coming. Not even when they are inches away can they smell the honey scent of your skin? It feels uneasy, though. There's a slight sense of discomfort. And then, it's Bradley's voice that you listen to first.

"Well, well," Bradley drawls with a sly, crooked grin. You flinch at his voice and turn towards him, his caramel eyes filled with the same spark he watched you with so many years ago. "If you aren't a sight for sore eyes,"

The golden afternoon sun is not comforting; now, it feels like a merciless spotlight, illuminating you and your past as your eyes move from one of his faces to another. The three of them, together. Your heart sinks like a stone in your chest. The mere sight of them sends a shiver down your spine.

It is as if time has folded in on itself, and suddenly, you are back to that summer. You are back seven years ago on the beach, tears falling down your eyes because of them, a whirlwind of emotions and desires entangled with the sense of dread and guilt.

A wry smile tugs at Bob's lips. "Tell me about it."

Lips quivering, dread washes over you as a heavy and suffocating sensation. It is sticky; guilt and dread and fear are sticky, so sticky that you can't seem to breathe. You'd stall them, you'd hide from them. The storm, the clouds gathering at the horizon, they were still far away enough, the tempest threatening to unleashed was kept at bay. Now, the storm, now them, they are just feet away from Inés.

You are afraid to talk momentarily as you watch them, Bradley's and Bob's satisfied and pleased smiles. They'd been trying to piece it together, the little crumbs of moments from seven years ago. How did the other fit in their memories of you? Then Jake came along. And so, they'd been looking for you; they'd been looking for answers in the weeks since they realized.

"What are you doing here? You don't have some planes to fly?" you ask, a voice harsh enough to let them know they are not welcome.

It doesn't stir them away, though. The knot in your stomach tightens as you speak, and your palms grow clammy with anxiety.

A heavy sigh escapes Bradlye's lips. "Part of it, Honey," he says as he points to other pilots at the beach, all playing a game.

"God," you let out.

It sounds like a curse, and it's meant like a curse. Each passing second is like a relentless drumbeat, counting down to the inevitable confrontation. The dread grows as you silently pray that Inés can stay with Matilda long enough for them to leave.

And yet, there's no sight of them leaving.

Bradley and Bob share a knowing look. Jake remains in the back, avoiding your gaze, almost ashamed. Bradley, anything but ashamed, gives another step closer to you.

"You know, we've been talking and thinking. We should all really talk about that summer, huh?" His words feel like velvet caressing your ear, and you raise your eyebrows.

"Why?" your voice trembles with defiance and trepidation.

Bradley huffs with a chuckle, shaking his head softly. "Just really wondering how you dated all of us, and I only knew about Jake."

Jake bit his cheek briefly, glaring at Bradley as he finally raised his head. Jake doesn't like Bradshaw's cocky grin since Jake finally told him that he was involved too; he wanted it less when he realized that Bradley knew about you and him. You never told him, Bradley had said. He'd figured it out. Jake doesn't know the details of it, and he still doesn't want to, like when he realized seven years ago that Bradley had stayed at your house. It is still a stomach-sick-inducing feeling.

It lingers on Jake's tongue as he finally intervenes.

"I knew about the two of you," Jake interrupts, gazing at Bob and Bradley, who turn towards him. Your face is petrified as his eyes finally lock with yours.

Bob raises an inquisitive brow, genuine surprise in his eyes. "I didn't know about either of you," he murmurs.

Swallowing hard as you cross your arms in front of your chest as if it would assure you any kind of protection, you glare at the three of them. The air was heavy with unspoken emotion.

"There's no way I am discussing this right now," you spit, giving a step back, heart racing as you pray they don't see her.

"Honey, you can't keep running away from this," Bradley says, a hint of a smile playing on his chest.

Amused that they've caught you, but Jake can see the desperation creeping into your eyes.

"Can't you leave me alone? It was seven years ago; you shouldn't care about this,"

Bob perceives it as soon as the last word almost breaks your voice. His eyebrows pinch immediately, concern drawn on his features. Bradley just notices as you begin to blink faster; he knows you; he knows that there's something wrong. The tension from the air still lingers as it dawns on all her unease. Concern flickers in their eyes; you can see it.

"Honey, just listen,"

"Mommy!"

Her small, sweet voice breaks through everything. Through their thoughts, through the conversation. It cuts the air you are breathing; it goes through your heart. You stay still, staring at their faces, scattered. They look scattered as they search for the source of the voice. You can hear her little steps in the ocean and feel them in the ground. You can always feel her. For a second, you hope she doesn't come, so you don't turn around; you hope she might get distracted.

But she's too determined, intelligent, or small to perceive these things. You know she feels you; she's concerned when you don't turn around. You think a crack as you refuse to look at her. But then, she's next to you, and her tiny voice cracks.

"Mommy?"

"Did she say..." Bradley whispers brows pinched together and jaw open.

The realization hits them like a bolt of lightning, as every fiber in your body snaps. You can't just look at them anymore; it's so natural. Your body vibrates, and your heart tightens as you lean down to look at your baby girl. Inés's brows are upwards in the middle, and her caramel eyes with green flecks are dripping with concern.

"Is she talking to..."

You quickly lean down and pick her up, holding her against your hip as fast as you can and pressing her body against you.

"My love," you whisper to her as you press your forehead against hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," you lie as you place strands of her blondish brunette behind her ears.

She gives you a kind smile, the kind you know she gives you when you know she doesn't believe you or agree. It is strange; you never thought you could read someone's thoughts, but then again, what kind of mother would you be. She's not saying anything; what brought her here suddenly left in the past. Now, she's focused on something else, someone else, three of them.

It dawns on you what they are looking at, and you wish you could avoid their gaze, but you can't. Not when Inés looks up at the three men with wide, innocent eyes. Utterly unfazed by their presence.

"Who are your friends?" she asks.

And then you finally look up. Seeing they're almost permanently with golden skin, they're all pale as a ghost. Their eyes are too enthralled with the issue, given that you have a daughter who is old enough to ask these things. That you are with a child when, seven years prior, you'd told them that you didn't know if you wanted a child. You are with a child, without a ring on your finger, and they are watching her, seeing themselves in her.

"These are Bob, Rooster, and Hangman, baby," you say softly, nonchalantly, as if not to raise any alarms. Inés, no longer hiding her face, gazes at them curiously. It's strange how quickly you press her tighter to your chest as if to hide her.

But there's no hiding it because you know what they are seeing, and they all know what you are thinking because they are considering it, too.

Jake knows she has something about his striking green eyes, the flecks on them, all too Seresin. His nieces have those eyes, too.

Bradley, god, Bradley could recognize that smile anywhere. It's the same as the one he had at that age and the one Carole had in that photo that Bradley carries in his wallet.

For Bob, it's the same blondish-brunette locks of hair. His nephews have the same tousled hair, soft and wavy, and could fall perfectly anywhere, even with the salty air that makes it dance.

"You have weird names," Inés spills, her voice sweet and almost a giggle. It is blunt, but then again, when is she not honest and blunt?

They chuckle along with her. It's forced and short. You don't react, staring at them, waiting for the moment you've been dreading. But there's no running away; they were right. There's no running away as the growing sense of unease is palpable. The chuckle is a mere façade, and you no longer have it in yourself to play the charade. Not with your child at risk now.

"It's nice to meet you, honey," Bob says first, trying to break the silence momentarily. "Say, we don't have your name. Could you tell us?"

Bob is kind and soft with his words. Inés struggles to get away from your chest for a second, trying to get closer to the man she has now suddenly endorsed as someone she can trust.

"Inés. My name is Inés,"

Bob's eyebrows raise as he looks at you, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. His grandmother's name was Inés, and you'd talked about it. A summer night, your dress dropping from your shoulders as he kissed it better, you'd asked him what he would name his daughter. Inés, you'd thought about that name too. It'd been left at least for Bob as he continued to kiss your salty skin. His Adam apple' bobs, swallowing hard as his chest tightened, losing air.

The air turns heavier for all of them; it doesn't escape to Bradley or Jake, the looks you exchanged with Bob. It just makes it worse because now it suddenly seems to clear the implications of her existence. All wholly disarmed by her appearance, they do not know what to say; in all fairness, you can't expect them to know. Though, you can still see them doubting themselves, grappling with the fact that she might be theirs, but not convinced until.

"And how old are you, sweetpea?" Jake finally inquires.

"I turned six years old in May," Inés replied, her voice filled with innocence. She was even proud of how old she was. A grown-up almost past five, you are no longer a baby, she recalled her auntie Augustine saying.

"Six?" Bradley's brows furrowed.

"Yeah, in May," she added, sensing their confusion.

And you let out a sigh as your world finally comes crashing down.

author's note: after a year of a very hard and awful year, this story is back! I'll do my best to write again. I hope some of you are still reading!

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